


Somewhere Only We Know

by kiwikero



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Hiking, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nature, Office Sex, Pining, park ranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwikero/pseuds/kiwikero
Summary: Harry Styles rather enjoys his weekly visits to Peak District National Park. There are seemingly endless trails, gorgeous scenery, and plenty of friendly faces—not to mention one very, very fit Park Ranger.





	Somewhere Only We Know

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of an ongoing challenge. We each select random numbers and are given a specific emotion from the book 1000 Feelings For Which There Are No Names. To read the other fics written in this challenge, [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ShortFic_Challenge_For_Which_There_Is_No_Name/works), or you can find the masterpost on tumblr [here](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/post/159679804243/1000-feelings-for-which-there-are-no-names-prompt).
> 
> This was meant to be something short and smutty, and somewhere along the way it grew a plot. Ah, well. My prompt this week was #116: The pride in your sore muscles after the hike.
> 
> I finished this a few hours before it was due meaning my beta was sleeping like a normal person, so please excuse any mistakes as this is unbeta'd for the time being. Also, I have never been to England and am gleefully pulling the descriptions of the park out of my merry ass. 
> 
> Thank you to KK for Britpicking!!
> 
> Title is from Keane's "Somewhere Only We Know."

It’s early afternoon when Harry pulls into his usual spot in the carpark. It’s his day off, and lately he’s spent them on the trails of Peak District National Park. It was his sister’s idea that they should both get in shape—her after a recent pregnancy, him after, well, uni. Harry is actually completely fine with his weight and body, but he wants to support Gemma in any way he can.

Instead of joining a gym, he decided early on that he’d rather get his exercise outdoors, and the park has suited him well so far. There are endless opportunities for guided walks that are both physically and mentally stimulating. When he doesn’t feel like walking, sometimes Harry hires a bicycle and explores a different path. He’s not terribly good at it, not enough for the advanced trails, but he’s getting much better considering he hadn’t ridden one since childhood.

Most days, like today, Harry chooses just to hike by himself. It’s a gloomy Monday, the sky grey and thick with clouds and the ground still damp from the weekend’s downpour, so the carpark is rather empty. That suits Harry just fine—not because he doesn’t like other people, but the quiet stillness of the park is one of his favourite parts of these outings. He doesn’t even bring along an iPod, choosing instead to listen to the birds chirping and the wind rustling the leaves. It’s also why he chooses the paths that lead away from villages instead of through them; they’re charming and beautiful in their own right, but he feels his best after a hike if his mind was engaged as well, and for Harry that takes a good hour or so immersed in nature.

Shoes tied and water bottle filled, Harry locks the car and heads off down his favourite path. He hasn’t been since last week, and the recent storms definitely had an effect on the trails—usually well maintained, they’re currently cluttered with fallen branches and other debris scattered by the wind and heavy rain. Harry has to pay a little more attention to where he puts his feet in order to avoid puddles and the occasional stick, but not so much that he can’t still enjoy his surroundings.

He’s been coming to the park twice a week for a few months now, and he’s starting to see some familiar faces on his visits. There’s the slightly strained looking young mum with the toddler and newborn pushing a pram along one of the shorter paths on sunny days. There’s two older ladies, a couple in matching tracksuits—one blue and one purple—holding hands as they stroll around the Langsett Reservoir route. They smile and wave when Harry passes them, and he waves right back.

Then there’s the Ranger.

Peak District National Park is known for its superb ranger service, both paid and volunteer, who work diligently to keep the park at its, er, peak. They’re responsible for everything from communicating with the farmers whose land houses some of the paths to leading walking tours to repairing signs and gates. They go about their business clad in red windbreakers and doing patrols in one of the park’s white service vans, and Harry has gotten to know several of them by name over the past few weeks.

There’s one man in particular, though, who Harry cannot stop thinking about.

He’s young, compared to some of the rangers; close to Harry’s age if looks are anything to go by. Lately he’s been updating all the signage on Harry’s favourite trail, so Harry has gotten to see quite a bit of him—from the way his chestnut coloured hair always seems too nicely arranged for a day in the woods to how well his trousers hug the swell of his bum. The ranger has smiled at Harry a few times, even called ‘hello’ once in a voice that Harry has spent no small amount of time thinking about since then, but Harry has never gotten brave enough to do more than wave nervously and decide to walk a bit faster. Sometimes he thinks he must have imagined the ranger; that anyone so gorgeous must be some sort of wood nymph and Harry is slowly being drawn to his death. Do wood nymphs do that? Anyway.

Today the man is nowhere to be seen, allowing Harry to let his guard down as he meanders along the deserted paths. The sun is trying its best to come out, letting small patches of light filter down through the foliage, but not enough to keep the wind from feeling cool against Harry’s skin. It’s isn’t so cold as to end his walk prematurely, however, so Harry zips up his jacket and carries on.

He’s about halfway finished with his route when it happens. He’s got his hands shoved in his jacket pockets for warmth, humming softly to himself as he walks, when a movement overhead catches his attention. It’s nothing exciting, just a bird, but Harry watches it flit from branch to branch in search of insects among the leaves. He’s so engrossed in watching it, listening to its various chirps at the insects and its fellow birds, that he isn’t paying attention to where he’s going. Something catches his ankle and he goes down hard.

With his hands in his pockets, Harry isn’t able to break his fall so he does the best he can to land in the grass next to the trail. It works, to an extent, though the angle twists his ankle terribly around the large branch its still caught on. Hands now freed, Harry chucks the branch off the path and pulls his ankle close to inspect it. There’s a scrape from the bark, red but not bleeding, but Harry’s more concerned with the fact that it already seems to be swelling.

“Stupid,” Harry mutters, pulling himself off the ground with the help of a nearby by tree. He glares at it as he stands, thinking it’s the least it can do after one of its brethren caused the injury in the first place. Once he’s upright, he gingerly puts pressure on his wounded ankle, only to lift it back off the ground a moment later. He’s definitely sprained it. Trouble is, it’s too painful to walk on and he’s too far from a visitors centre to try and limp back. He could call for help, maybe, but the signal on this side of the reservoir is spotty enough on a clear day.

“Looks like I’m waiting it out,” Harry mutters to himself, easing back down to lean against the base of the tree. It shouldn’t be too long, he hopes—despite it being a slow day, this is a popular trail in a popular park. Someone should be along any moment.

The minutes tick by until it’s been half an hour, and Harry hasn’t seen a single living soul not covered in feathers or fur. He’s been playing games on his mobile, but it’s getting later in the day and he really does need to get home soon. It will only get cooler as the sun sets, and his arse is soaked from sitting on the wet grass. He doesn’t need to catch cold on top of having a dodgy ankle.

Just when he’s given up hope of rescue and is about to try to limp back toward the carpark, he hears the sound of footsteps coming along the trail. They stop every few steps, punctuated with scuffling sounds, before continuing their steady pace. Harry can’t decide whether to be relieved or scared—the former that he’s about to be rescued, the latter that it might be by some kind of troll.

It isn’t a troll, but as his rescuer comes into view Harry finds himself wishing it was. Instead, it’s the fit park ranger. He’s wearing his uniform of a red windbreaker embroidered with the park’s logo and well-fitting trousers, finished off by hiking boots. The scuffling sound is the man stopping every few steps to clear the path with the large broom he’s holding, pushing all the debris off the side so that no one else will trip. Harry rolls his eyes at the timing of it all.

The ranger startles when he spots Harry, still sat against the tree and hugging his knees to a chest. “Hello,” he calls cautiously, pausing to lean on his broom. “All right?”

“Sprained ankle,” Harry replies bashfully, gesturing to the now rather swollen ankle. “I can’t put pressure on it.”

Frowning, the ranger abandons his task and approaches Harry. He leans his broom against the tree before crouching down, hands hovering just over Harry’s trouser leg. “May I examine it?” he asks, looking at Harry with eyes that seem to have stolen all the blue from the now colourless sky.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replies, trying to remind himself to breathe. The ranger is even more gorgeous up close, and the way his hands are gently examining Harry’s ankle has him desperate to feel them on the rest of his skin. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

The ranger carefully rolls Harry’s pant leg back down. “Well, Harry, I’m afraid you’ve got a pretty nasty sprain. I can get you patched up and back to the visitors centre in no time.” He stands, offering a hand to help Harry to his feet. “I’m Louis.”

Harry accepts the hand, smaller than his own and calloused, and pulls himself to his feet. Without warning, Louis wraps a deceptively strong arm around Harry’s torso, taking his weight on the side of the injured ankle. “My van is just ‘round the corner, I’ll give you a lift,” Louis explains, helping Harry hobble along the trail.

Harry shoots a glance at the branch that landed him in this situation. “What about the rest of the paths?” he asks, trying to focus on his footing instead of the warmth and strength of the body supporting him. “What if someone else trips over something because I kept you from clearing the paths?”

Louis’ mouth twists to one side, his eyes flicking over to Harry. “I’ll get to them today, Harry. It’s not terribly likely someone will come along in the short while it takes me to drop you off.” Harry could hear the unsure tone of his voice, the thread of worry that someone could be injured because of him.

“Well, I can’t let someone else get hurt because of me,” Harry insists, somewhat breathless from limping along even with Louis’ assistance. He’s immensely grateful when the white van comes into view, parked just off the side of the trail. “I’ll be all right; you can come back for me once you’ve finished.”

Louis ignores him as he reaches out for the passenger door, opening it on its creaking hinges and helping Harry onto the seat. Once Harry is settled, Louis regards him thoughtfully. “You sure you’re not in too much pain? I suppose you could ride along with me while I finish my rounds.” He gives Harry a stern look with his piercing eyes. “Only if you truly don’t mind. Say the word and I’ll have you back at the carpark as fast as Bets here can go.”

Harry giggles at the name. “Bets?” he asks. “Is that short for Betsy?”

Louis smiles, wide and brilliant, before shaking his head. “Nah. She doesn’t like to start on the first try every time, or keep running, or shift sometimes, so it’s short for Bets-Are-Off.” He pats the side of the vehicle fondly. “She gets the job done, though.” He disappears around the back and Harry hears the back doors open as Louis rummages for something, then returns to Harry’s side with a first aid kit. “For your ankle,” Louis explains, opening the kit and pulling out a compression bandage.

Harry obediently holds out his leg, trying not to wince as Louis eases down his sock to expose the swollen ankle. Louis expertly wraps the bandage, just tight enough to stabilise his ankle without cutting off circulation. “Done this a lot?” Harry asks, trying to hide the shiver of pleasure he gets any time Louis’ fingers accidentally brush skin.

“Yes, but surprisingly not here,” Louis says, glancing up with laughing blue eyes. “My mum is a nurse and I have a boat load of younger siblings, so I learned basic first aid far before I ever became a ranger.” He finishes off the wrapping and slides Harry’s sock back into place. “There, right as rain. Do you need any painkillers?”

Harry shakes his head dismissively as Louis packs away the kit, more interested in learning more about the attractive man. “And how did you come to be a ranger?” Harry asks.

Louis chuckles. “There’s a story for the drive,” he says, rounding the van to return the kit to its proper place and close the doors before climbing into the driver’s side. He dutifully buckles his safety belt and watches Harry do the same before trying the ignition. True to her reputation, Bets sputters the first two tries before roaring to life on the third. “That a girl,” Louis croons, patting the steering wheel before taking hold of it and coaxing the van gently onto the path. “Now then, about your question.”

So Louis talked as they went, and when he had to stop to tend to a section of the trail Harry rolled down his window to keep listening as Louis worked. Louis told Harry about how his granddad used to bring him to this park as a child, and all the fond memories he had of it. “When I learned you could work here, spend every single day giving back to it, I didn’t want to do anything else,” Louis said, dragging a large branch much like the one that attacked Harry off of the path. “I started as a volunteer ranger fresh out of uni, and luckily enough I was offered a paid position a year later.” He climbs back into the truck, just as handsome despite the sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead from working. It’s turning out to be a surprisingly sunny day, and both men have shed their jackets despite the breeze. “What about you? What brings you to the park?”

“My sister wants to get in shape,” Harry explains. “I’m exercising in solidarity, and I’d much rather do it here than in a stuffy gym.”

Louis glances at him curiously before returning his eyes to the road. “You sure? You’re not missing the stench of sweat and testosterone?”

 

Harry laughs and takes an exaggerated sniff. “I don’t know, there seems to be plenty of that in here,” he teases, earning a laugh and a rude, one-handed gesture from Louis. It feels like a victory.

They leave behind the route Harry’s most familiar with, trading the wooded land of the reservoir for grassy farmland. He rarely makes it this far on his walks, but the view is gorgeous. Louis pulls the truck to a stop next to a low stone wall. “Checking the gates,” Louis explains. “Lots of these paths cross onto private farmland, and we want to keep the owners happy by making sure the gates are taken care of and closing properly.” Louis hops out of the van and hurries over to the gate. Everything must be as it should, because Louis comes bounding back a moment later with a youthful grin on his face. “Right, off to the next one!”

Harry doesn’t know where the time goes. One minute it’s afternoon and they’re bouncing along in the van, trading stories and laying the foundation for a timid friendship, and the next Louis is glancing at the dashboard clock and swearing. It doesn’t say the correct time, Harry’s guessing by the 1 in the hour place, but Louis still seems to know exactly what it means.

“Something wrong?” Harry asks, frowning as Louis navigates the truck along a narrow point of the path.

The ranger glances at Harry with an apologetic grin. “I should have been back at my office an hour ago. I have some paperwork I need to see to before I head home for the night, and I really wasn’t planning on staying late.”

Harry pulls out his mobile to check the actual time, shocked to find it was nearing five in the evening. Harry was usually home, wearing nothing but his pants and surfing Netflix by now. “Will you get in trouble for being late?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, I just need to finish it tonight. Won’t take long at all.” He smiles apologetically, eyebrows raised to make lines on his forehead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long. I’ll get you back straightaway.”

Something sinks in Harry’s chest at the thought of Louis leaving him back at his car. It’s been such a lovely day, despite the sprained ankle, and he’s really enjoyed getting to know Louis. “I don’t want to hold you up,” Harry insists, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels to remain in Louis’ company just a bit longer. “Maybe you could take me back after you finish up your paperwork?” Louis looks at him, scrutinising, and Harry deflates under his gaze. “I mean, if you want to. I’d love to see your office.”

A hint of an expression passes over Louis’ face but is gone just as quickly, his sharp features settling back into their usual state of permanent amusement. “Would you now?” Louis asks, and something about the way he says it sends shivers down Harry’s spine. “Well, if you’re sure you won’t mind.” He turns into the carpark in front of Langsett Barn, a post and truss structure that has been repurposed as offices and large community room. Harry’s seen it before, sure, but has never actually been inside the old building, and finds himself rather excited at the opportunity.

He waits in his seat for Louis to come around and help him down, slipping an arm around Harry just as he’d done back on the trail. Now, though, it seems as if Louis’ holding him just a bit tighter, his fingertips digging purposefully into the meat above Harry’s hip. It’s most likely wishful thinking on Harry’s part, but the thought is enough to send blood rushing to his cheeks.

The barn is dark, everyone else already gone for the day. The only car left in front besides Bets and the row of service vehicles must belong to Louis. Louis skillfully unlocks the barn while still holding Harry steady, and then they’re inside. The interior has been updated but still looks rustic, with the original brick walls and modern tile floors. “Wow,” Harry says, looking up at the timber trusses in the ceiling, a firsthand look at history. “This is fantastic, and you get to see it every day.”

Louis seems pleased at Harry’s response, beaming up at the wooden timbers. “I’m quite lucky,” he agrees, and leads the way to his office and flicks on the lights.

The room is small and cluttered in a way that suggests a method to the madness. There are stacks of files and paperwork, but even though Harry barely knows Louis he has no doubt that those piles are sorted in a way that only makes sense to him.

“Here it is,” Louis announces, helping Harry into a spare chair and even dragging over a bucket for him to prop his ankle up on. Once he has Harry settled, even handing over his iPhone charger so that Harry can charge his mobile, Louis drops into his desk chair and pulls a stack of papers toward him. “Right, well, this won’t take but a moment,” Louis promises, glancing up from his work to check on Harry a final time. “You sure you’re all right? It’s not too late to decide you’d rather leave now.”

The concern in Louis’ voice is soft, soothing after the sparks his words in the van had sent racing through Harry’s veins. “I’m sure,” Harry promises, making a show of opening up his iBooks app and picking up where he left off in the book he was reading. He watches out of the corner of his eye as, seemingly satisfied, Louis lowers his head and starts to work.

It doesn’t take long for Louis to get through the entire stack, and though it’s nearly six o’clock Harry still isn’t quite ready for this day to end. He’s out of reasons to drag it out any longer, though, unless he can come up with something fast; Louis is already grabbing his jacket and keys as he prepares to leave.

“You ready?” Louis asks, at the same time Harry says, “wait!” They both stop, waiting for the other to speak, and chuckle together when neither of them does. “You first,” Louis says, perching his bum on the edge of his desk.

Harry takes a deep breath. He hadn’t actually thought much past the ‘wait’ bit. “Erm, I think I hurt my knee earlier. You know, when I fell.”

Louis stares at him blankly. “Your knee.”

“Yeah, Harry says, groaning internally, but it’s too late to back out now. “It’s been aching for the last hour or so. Think you might take a look at it?”

Louis’ eyebrows quirk in amusement as he looks at Harry’s knee, encased in snug denim. Too late Harry remembers that he forgot his workout clothes today, instead having to wear the outfit he’d worn to run errands that morning—which, of course, included a pair of skinny jeans. “And how do you suppose I do that?” Louis murmurs, dragging his eyes painfully slowly up the length of Harry’s body until they settle on his flaming face. “I could barely move them enough to wrap your ankle.”

The curses bouncing around the inside of Harry’s head could make a sailor blush. He doesn’t know when he made the decision to take things further, to push the boundaries of their new friendship into more amorous territory, but the words are out of his mouth before he has time to think about them. “Erm. I could take them off?” he suggests meekly. There’s nothing sexy about his nervous voice or the blush he can feel creeping down his neck, but Louis’ eyes darken in a way that suggests he received the memo.

“Come here,” Louis orders, soft yet commanding, and reaches forward to help Harry to his feet. His touch is still gentle, careful, but there’s an urgency to it that was missing from his earlier contact. In a smooth motion, Louis wraps both arms around Harry and turns to set him down on the desk, paperwork and file folders be damned.

Harry makes a startled sound at being lifted bodily onto the desk, especially by someone shorter and slighter than himself, but he isn’t at all surprised that Louis’ body is capable of such strength. Harry is dying to know what else it’s capable of, what other surprises lie among the firm muscle and tanned skin. He has a feeling he’s about to find out.

“Tell me I’m not reading this completely wrong,” Louis whispers urgently, his mouth suddenly close enough to Harry’s that he can feel Louis’ breath on his lips.

“You aren’t,” Harry whispers back, and that’s all he has time for before Louis is closing the distance between them with a kiss.

It starts out tentative, at first, both of them taking their time to explore and discover, but then there’s teeth and tongue and Harry is moaning into Louis’ mouth in pleasure, the desire that’s been building all afternoon seeming to come to a head as Louis’ mouth lays claim to his own. Louis kisses like he works, steady and determined, and Harry is dizzy with it by the time they break apart for air.

“You all right?” Louis gasps, his thin lips red and swollen from the intensity of their kissing.

“Fuck me,” Harry replies, and only has a second to breathe before Louis’ mouth is back on his, more insistent than before. Louis’ hands, previously clenched around Harry’s hips to hold him steady, now slide beneath the hem of Harry’s t-shirt to lift it over his head.

“You want that?” Louis asks when he breaks the kiss to remove Harry’s shirt entirely. He’s flushed down to his chest, and Harry can just see the curling edges of a tattoo peeking up from his skewed shirt collar. He really, really hopes to get a better look at it soon.

Harry doesn’t answer, instead leaning back on his elbows on the desk. The air in the office is cool on his exposed skin, but Harry barely notices thanks to the heat of the body that quickly covers his own. Louis fumbles at Harry’s fly, all the while kissing up the side of Harry’s exposed neck. The scratch of Louis’ stubble is just this side of painful, and Harry moans at the thought of Louis marking him up, of driving home and having a physical reminder that his wood nymph is real after all.

The reverie is broken by cool air hitting Harry’s thighs as Louis tugs down his jeans and boxers in one go. They are rather tight, and both of them giggle as Harry has to help Louis push them down the rest of the way (taking extra care over Harry’s sprained ankle), but it does nothing to kill the mood. Quite the opposite; as soon as Louis takes in the sight of Harry, naked and spread out for him, it’s like the ranger can’t get out of his trousers fast enough.

“Fuck,” Louis curses, wearing nothing except for his shirt. He’s fully erect, his cock hard and red, and he reaches down to stroke himself as he appreciates the view. “You’re gorgeous, Harry. So gorgeous for me.”

The sight of Louis’ touching himself drives Harry’s hips upward of their own accord, a whimper of want spilling from his mouth. “Please, Louis, please,” he all but begs. He’ll be embarrassed later, but for right now all he wants is this man inside of him, filling and stretching him in a way that he hasn’t been in far too long for his liking.

Louis leans over the desk, reaching into a drawer for a little bottle of lube and a condom. When Harry sees what’s in his hand, he raises an eyebrow. “Done this before, have you?” he teases, suddenly jealous of whoever else might have been bent over this desk, wondering selfishly if he can make Louis forget them entirely.

“Never,” Louis says with a chuckle, already slicking up his fingers. He holds three of them up in a salute. “But a Scout is always prepared,” he smirks, and then he’s sliding one of those fingers inside Harry.

Harry’s elbows give out, his back falling to the desk and head lolling off the other side. It’s been ages since anyone has touched him like this, since his boyfriend from uni took a job in the States and broke off the relationship. The stretch is sinfully sweet, Harry’s body clenching and relaxing around Louis’ finger with each frantic beat of his heart, and he’s no sooner adjusted to the first finger than a second is sliding in alongside it.

Louis swears, and Harry opens his eyes long enough to see him staring down at Harry’s entrance with hooded eyes. “God, baby, you’re so tight for me,” he rasps, giving his wrist a delicious twist that has Harry nearly arching off the desk. “Taking it so well, aren’t you?”

“More, please,” Harry sobs, and when Louis fits a third finger in alongside the other two Harry nearly cries in relief. If his fingers feel this amazing, Harry doesn’t know if he’ll survive how good Louis’ cock will feel.

The seconds when Louis removes his fingers to open the condom packet are tortuous, Harry body already missing the brief taste of Louis it had, but soon enough Louis is rolling the condom on and lining the head of his dick up with Harry’s hole. “You ready, love?” Louis asks in a husky voice that makes Harry’s toes curl.

At a loss for words, Harry can only nod frantically, wound tight like a spring until finally Louis pushes inside and starts to thrust. It’s better than Harry could have imagined, Louis’ cock the perfect thickness and the angle allowing him to brush Harry’s prostate just enough to keep him on edge. Harry’s hands reach for Louis as the ranger folds his body over Harry’s, Harry hanging on tightly to Louis’ back as the force of his thrusts are enough to rock the old desk. Harry has a brief moment of worry that some of the papers he’s sweating on might be important, but the thought is driven from his mind with a particularly well-aimed thrust that rips a wail from his already aching throat. He’s not going to last much longer, and judging by the urgency of Louis’ gasps he isn’t far behind.

“Louis,” Harry whines, digging his fingernails into the skin of Louis’ shoulder blades in a way that has the other man moaning in pleasure. “Gonna come.” He doesn’t want it to end, but at the same time he wants to come so badly, the ball of heat in his abdomen seeming to fill his entire body to the point that he thinks he might burst with it.

“Come for me, baby,” Louis urges, getting a hand between them to grip Harry’s neglected cock. “Come on, let me see you.” It doesn’t even take a full stroke for Harry to come, painting his chest and Louis’ shirt with his come. Louis watches in fascination, his hips jerking erratically, and then he’s coming too, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning low and long as he spills inside the condom.

The air in the small office smells of sex, charged and damp as they lie panting in a heap on the tousled paperwork. “God,” Louis says eventually, lifting his head to press a kiss to the damp skin of Harry’s chest. “That was so good, Harry. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Me neither,” Harry admits, suddenly feeling sheepish and exposed under the unforgiving fluorescent lights. “I’m, um, sorry about your shirt.”

Blinking, Louis pulls away from Harry and looks down at his shirt, emblazoned with the Peak District National Park Logo. Harry’s come is splattered over the front, sticky and rather obvious. “It’ll wash,” he replies with a shrug. He dips down to kiss Harry sweetly before pulling Harry up to a seated position. The hard wood of the desk against his bum sends a pleasant soreness radiating from the area, and Harry wiggles back and forth to intensify the sensation.

“Feels good,” Harry says shyly when he opens his eyes to find Louis watching him.

Louis just smiles, one that bares all his teeth and wrinkles the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad,” he replies, his voice honey and grit. He looks past Harry at the clock hanging on the wall and sighs. “Unfortunately, I really do have to take you back now. I’m meeting my sister for drinks and I absolutely have to have a shower first.” He spreads his hands in an apologetic gesture. “She has a nose like a bloodhound. If she smells you on me, I won’t hear the end of it for weeks.”

Harry laughs, but it comes out a bit forced. He isn’t really sure what this was, but the idea of being someone Louis doesn’t want to talk about, that he wants to wash off and return his normal life stings. Still, he has no claim over those things, not yet, and has stolen far more time than he had any right to. “Yeah, okay,” Harry agrees, and allows Louis to help him get dressed and out to the car.

The ride back to Harry’s car is quiet except for the hum of the engine and the radio, turned down enough that Harry can’t quite make out what song is playing. He wonders what his next day at the park will be like. Will he see Louis? Will it be awkward? Will they acknowledge each other, or pretend that none of this has ever happened? Oh, God, will Harry have to find somewhere else to go walking?

“You’re thinking loud enough it’s making  _ my  _ head hurt,” Louis says, giving Harry a gentle poke in the shoulder.

Harry blinks owlishly in the dusky evening light. They’re back at the carpark, parked next to Harry’s car with the engine idling. It’s time to get out, to say goodbye, and let whatever happens, happen.

“Sorry,” Harry apologises, gathering his jacket and water bottle and digging around for his keys. “Thank you for taking care of me. Have fun with your sister.”

There’s a hand on his arm before Harry can even get the car door open. “Wait,” Louis says, in the same tone Harry had earlier when he wasn’t quite ready to go. “Will you be able to get home all right? With your ankle, I mean.”

Harry places one of his hands over Louis’; it’s warm and dry, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. “I can make it from here,” he promises. “I’ve taken enough of your time for one day.”

Louis doesn’t look convinced, but allows Harry to exit the car and limp over to his own. It takes some balancing to unlock the door without dropping anything, but Harry succeeds and drops down into the seat without any help. Driving should be fine as well, Harry luckily having hurt the ankle he doesn’t need for the pedals, but the steps at his flat might prove tricky.

He starts the car, glancing out the window once more before driving home. Louis is still sitting there watching him, now with the passenger window rolled down. He cranks his hand in the air, as if urging Harry to do the same. “Yeah?” Harry asks, wondering if perhaps he left something behind in Louis’ car.

“Your knee,” Louis blurts out, chewing at his lip as he decides what to say next. “Before we, um… You said your knee was hurt. Is it all right?”

Harry barks out a stunned laugh. He’d been certain Louis had seen through the flimsy excuse to stay; maybe he had, though, and is just as reluctant to part ways now as Harry. “It’s fine,” he admits. “I just didn’t want tonight to end.”

Louis laughs as well, shaking his head. “I think I knew that, but I didn’t want it to either.” He sighs. “You could have just asked me for my number.”

Harry opens his mouth to speak and shuts it abruptly. “I didn’t even think of that,” he says, feeling rather stupid, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind.

“Might not have ended the same if you had,” Louis says with a wink, and Harry’s entire body tingles with the memory. “I really am meeting my sister, but be sure to put some ice on that ankle when you get home. And check your pockets; never know when something might have crawled in there, especially as long as you were on the ground before I found you.” With that he blows Harry a theatrical kiss, then rolls up the window and pulls away.

Still not entirely convinced that any of this is real, Harry puts the car into drive and eases out of the carpark. The entire ride home he thinks of Louis; of his voice, his laugh, his hands. It makes the drive pass in a flash, and soon he’s parked in front of his flat. He was right, the stairs are a bit tricky, but he makes it inside with only a few choice words. His ankle is throbbing; he could do with a shower himself, but all he wants is to get a bag of ice and elevate his injured leg.

As he’s stripping down, he remembers the other thing Louis mentioned before he drove away. Curious, Harry rifles through the pockets of his jeans, so nervous about finding a living creature that he gives a shout when his fingers close around something that definitely wasn’t there this morning. Taking a breath to calm himself, Harry pulls out the item and takes a look.

It’s a business card. On the front is the park’s logo and, just beneath, the name Louis Tomlinson printed in Copperplate. His office address and phone number are just beneath, but someone has drawn a little arrow in one of the bottom corners. Harry flips the card over to find another number, presumably Louis’ mobile, written in a messy scrawl. ‘Text me!’ it says, complete with a smiley face with Xs for eyes.

Harry immediately programs the number into his mobile, but he doesn’t text Louis, not yet. He doesn’t want to interrupt Louis’ time with his sister, and honestly he isn’t even sure what he wants to say yet. Tomorrow, though, tomorrow he thinks he’ll text him good morning, and ask how he slept, and then maybe ask him to dinner this weekend. After all, it isn’t like Harry will be going walking again until his ankle heals, and he doesn’t think he can wait that long to see Louis again.

Louis agrees, of course, and it will be the first of many dinners together. There are many more walks in the park, and patrols in Bets, and even a couple more after-hours romps in Louis’ office, but there are twice as many more firsts that neither of them ever could have imagined, all thanks to a sprained ankle. Harry gets a tree branch tattooed on it on their first anniversary, and thinks he might add to it every year until he has an entire tree.

Who knows, maybe Louis is a wood nymph after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Come say hello on [tumblr](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com)! If you're so inclined, there is a rebloggable fic post [here](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/160228716002/title-somewhere-only-we-know-author).


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